


Don't want to sleep in the dirt

by evie_everyday



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), F/M, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), POV Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Pining Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), haha no i didn't write a one shot to procrastinate on my multi-chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:55:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25577686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evie_everyday/pseuds/evie_everyday
Summary: Merlin infuriates him. Arthur throws things, calls him names, but Merlin gives back just as hard with his cheeky grin and clever retorts. Arthur pretends it’s annoyance that makes him repeat the insults—clot pole, dollop head, prat— to himself as he lies in bed, tracing the words over and over again in his head until they’re etched there.**One-shot about Arthur loving boys (and Gwen. But mostly Merlin).
Relationships: Gwen/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Gwen/Lancelot (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 248





	Don't want to sleep in the dirt

**Author's Note:**

> heyyy guess who wrote a one-shot because the next chapter of Find a heart and catch your breath is being super annoying? Me? No, of course not...
> 
> TW: This fic is focused on Arthur, mostly, and he experiences a lot of internalized homophobia. If this is something that triggers you, please stay safe!

Arthur is on the dungeon floor, fifteen summers and holding back tears as Uther screams at him after finding his precious son on his knees for one of the new knight trainees. He isn’t sure if he’s more upset they got caught or that it happened at all, but the two weeks of stale bread and damp dungeon walls make him learn to regret it either way. 

Then he’s sixteen and sitting at a feast in honor of some visiting nobles. Alana and her father have been talking of an engagement, and even though she’s lovely, her brother Eaym keeps giving Arthur lazy smiles that leave his stomach fluttering and his cheeks pink. Arthur just wants them to go so he doesn’t have to think about the way Eaym holds his gaze a moment too long, his smoldering eyes making Arthur wonder if he’s the one making Eaym’s cheeks flush. Uther asks him what he thinks of them as the feast dies down, and he says “beautiful” while looking at the wrong one. They’re sent away the next morning, no engagement to speak of.

Then he’s seventeen and falling into bed with a man for the first time. He’s been leading a hunt for the past three days, but the rain has gotten so bad that the party found a small inn to shack up in for the night. The innkeeper’s son smiles at him as he places a bowl of stew in front of the crown prince, and when he offers to show Arthur to his room, the other offer is written in between his words.

It’s not the same as it is with a girl, not at all, and Arthur can’t help but hate himself as he likes this just as much.

Then he’s eighteen, and Merlin is telling him he’s a prat in the middle of the square. He doesn’t know how to respond to the gleam of defiance in his eyes, and though it pisses him off, some piece of him sees Merlin and thinks, it could just be the two of us, forever. 

Merlin infuriates him. Arthur throws things, calls him names, but Merlin gives back just as hard with his cheeky grin and clever retorts. Arthur pretends it’s annoyance that makes him repeat the insults—clot pole, dollop head, prat— to himself as he lies in bed, tracing the words over and over again in his head until they’re etched there.

Then there’s Guinevere, and Arthur is so happy that she makes his heart thump in his chest and stomach flutter the way it’s supposed to that he dives into it, head on, telling himself Guinevere is going to be it for him. 

Gwen is fire, with her bright eyes and burning passion for making the world a better place, and Arthur is happy to let himself be consumed by her. 

Gwen is both tentative touches and bold kisses stolen in dark corridors. She’s teasing laughter and small favors tied to his armor. Arthur knows she makes him a better man, and that is enough for him. 

He loves Gwen with all his heart.

But where Gwen is fire, Merlin is water, and Arthur can’t help but be submerged in him. 

And it’s not like he’d ever do anything, since he would die before hurting Gwen, but even as he loses himself in Gwen’s tender smiles and warm eyes, he can’t shove the what-if of Merlin’s soft lips and bright eyes away.

He hates himself for even indulging the idea enough for the what-ifs to form in the back of his mind. He hates himself for not being able to give himself completely to Gwen the way she deserves. He hates that he knows if he ever had to choose between the two people that mean most to him in the world, he would hesitate. 

Then Gwen admits to him that no matter how hard she tries to shove him away, Lancelot has and always will occupy part of her heart. He watches her as the guilt brings tears to her eyes, and he understands her better than he ever has before. 

Maybe there’s more to love than just feelings, he suggests quietly.

Love is a choice, they decide together. Love is choosing someone over and over again. 

A few months later, Gwen chooses Lancelot. 

Arthur doesn’t know if he’s heartbroken. He knows something in his chest aches when he thinks about Gwen’s farewell smile, but he didn’t think heartbreak was supposed to have room for sympathy. But even if he feels like he’s missing a part of him for a long time after, he understands why she left. 

He wants her to be happy.

But with his fiery Gwen gone, it grows more and more difficult to resist the pull of Merlin’s dark blue eyes. 

He is a king without authority over his heart, and he begins to worry he’ll go mad if he has to continue on like this. Some days, he asks Merlin to stay as the moon rises in the sky and the fire crackles loudly, and they talk like there is nothing that matters in the world except the two of them, sitting together. 

Then on others, guilt over whatever it is he feels for Merlin leads him to push his friend away, pretending he really is just a stupid servant, a terrible one, really, and that he can’t care less whether or not Merlin knows it’s a lie when he does. 

It’s on one of these days that everything changes. 

They’ve had a yelling match, Arthur can’t remember what about, and Merlin goes off to who-knows-where to sulk. Arthur broods silently in his room for about ten minutes before going after him.

He knows he’s the King of Camelot and that there are probably important things for him to do, but they all seem distant when there’s a Merlin-shaped hole in his heart. 

His anger has mostly faded by the time he picks up Merlin’s trail in the forest and finds him in a clearing. He plans a grand non-apology, to which he knows Merlin will get playfully annoyed and then do the thing where he forgives him with his eyes. They’ll go back to the citadel bickering happily, and everything will be alright.

His plans vanish as soon as he sees the dragon standing in front of Merlin. He recognizes it, he thinks, from one of the times Morgana attacked them. That’s enough to make him unsheathe Excalibur and yell for Merlin to take cover.

The last thing he expects is for Merlin to dive between his sword and the dragon, yelling at Arthur to stop, that Aithusa was not going to hurt him, he promised, but he needs to calm down. 

Yeah.  _ Aithusa. _

The little white devil looks contorted in a way Arthur knows isn’t right, and confusion and anger and a tiny bit of fear course through him when the creature snarls at him and tries to pounce but Merlin says something in a raspy voice that stops it.

It hurts when the pieces fall into place. Arthur is not an idiot, but he feels like one as Merlin stands in front of him, his posture defiant to distract from the veiled fear in his eyes.

Is it just dragons, he hears himself ask, or is it magic, too? 

Merlin’s shoulders sag and his face scrunches up with repressed tears. 

If Arthur didn’t understand what a broken heart was supposed to feel like when Gwen left, he gets it now. 

Merlin is water. He is the feeling of a cool stream stripping away the grime of a hot day. He’s the quiet stillness of an undisturbed lake, offering fortitude when the world descends into chaos around him. He makes Arthur feel alive.

And now, every drop of him is a lie. Merlin is a liar, and Arthur doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with that. 

Then he and Merlin are yelling, but he doesn’t once think to point Excalibur in his direction. It clatters to the damp ground, making a solid thump against the forest leaves, and somehow, Merlin ends up in his arms.

Arthur doesn’t understand how he feels, doesn’t know if the rage from a moment ago will resurge when he lets go, or if he will ever trust Merlin again, but for the time being, he holds Merlin against his chest like he will never let go.

There’s a picture in his head, of him and Merlin sitting together by a fire. They’re old, and they’re tired, but most of all, they’re content as they look back on the life they’ve shared. 

Arthur says something, and Merlin laughs as he blows colorful sparks off of his palm towards Arthur. They form a dragon as they move through the air, and it dances around Arthur’s head.

The glowing eyes don’t scare Arthur, because this is Merlin, and there is no fear of magic in Arthur anymore, not after this kind, amazing, idiot can wield it with so much goodness.

The vision fades from his eyes, but Arthur can’t bring himself to let go of Merlin. He’s not ready to face what will come after, so he clings for a moment longer. 

And when he is ready to let go, it isn’t to fury or fear or hatred, but to the awful understanding that if he ever had to choose between Camelot and the man in his arms, he would hesitate.

  
  



End file.
